


Running the Gauntlet

by phaetonschariot



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s01e04 Cyberwoman, Other, for omnijaxual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-03 23:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phaetonschariot/pseuds/phaetonschariot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has three right hands and a box of sins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running the Gauntlet

The day the last pieces of cyberunit are destroyed Jack gets blisteringly drunk and ends up sprawled out on the floor of his office at 2 am. Everyone's gone home - Ianto's on suspension - and at some point he'd gotten the resurrection glove's containment box out of the secure archives and dragged the Doctor's hand in and set them facing each other. Between them all he has three right hands, which probably wouldn't be _nearly_ so funny if he was sober.

He breaks open the Not For Use seal, the one _Ianto_ had put on, cleaning up Jack's shit like always, and pulls the glove out. The metal's cold and he remembers when he'd first seen the Cyberman-- woman-- (Lisa) standing ahead of them in the corridor, steel laced across her body like she'd had an accident in a forge. He hadn't touched her when she was alive and he wonders if it had warmed with the contact with her skin.

The inside of the glove does, fairly quickly when he slides it on, and he flops back onto his back and trails it down his body lazily. His skin feels strange anyway, with this much alcohol in him, but the metal is weirder, hard and unyielding even through his clothes.

Luckily he's had enough practice drunk _and_ sober that he can have a fairly good go at undoing his buttons left-handed. He can't be bothered taking down his braces, just tugs the sides of his shirt away, tugs up the lower hem of his tee, traces lines across his stomach with the glove. The touch of it makes him shiver, and unlike his hand it really does feel like someone else is touching him. He lets his eyes fall closed and wonders if Ianto ever thought about doing something like this with his robot girlfriend. If he eroticised it somehow, if the reason he refused to try the glove was because it made him think about her down there in the basement, half her skin bare and the rest steel. Or if he just didn't want to interfere in Suzie's downfall. It probably made a good distraction for him.

It's no wonder the Doctor left him behind when he can't even stop his team from falling apart.

The woman under all the metal had probably been beautiful once, beautiful enough for Ianto anyway, and he bets they'd made a gorgeous couple. Dark skin next to pale, brown eyes and blue. Ianto's hands on her breasts as she rode him. He shudders, wrestles with belt and buttons and zip, and the glove wasn't really made to be as flexible as a human hand but he curls it around his cock anyway and almost yelps at the chill. Funny, since the inside has warmed up fine, but the outside is still cold on his skin. He slides it up and down awkwardly, attempting to thumb over the head of his cock, and it's difficult but it feels good anyway. Ianto had sucked him off a couple of times, clumsy like this is, but that's where the similarities end - his mouth had been so warm, soft and firm and alive, and he'd looked up at Jack from under his lashes in a way that made him feel _powerful_ , made him forget to actually look around him. 

He doesn't feel powerful anymore. 

He hisses as the metal scrapes a little at his skin, but at least the precome eases the way a bit, and he manages to hook the thumb of the glove round the other side so it's more of a pump than a stroke. This is the first time he's felt "jerking off" to be appropriate, he realises, and laughs bitterly. He's lucky though - this would probably be a lot more painful if he'd had much hair. Huffing a sigh, he twists his wrist so he can push the fingers further into his pants to cup his balls, rolling them against the metal. It makes him groan and arch his back against the floor, and then it's just as much steady movement as he can manage until he tips over the edge. As orgasms go it's pretty pathetic, but it's still been the best part of his day so far.

For a while he just lies like that, dick softening gradually against the glove. Eventually he sighs, pulls his hand away, yanks the glove off. He's going to have to clean it. Pack it away. Relock the box.

He'd forgotten how much of a bitch it was to clean up his own messes.


End file.
